Author's Note: I know that they don't really like these sorts of chapters on this site, but these people are much to important to go unthanked.

First, to Archerlove, my amazing beta. For every time she had to correct my punctuation, call me on some ridiculous plot twist, or email me saying I forgot to attach the file I needed help with, her endless patience, honest editing suggestions and brilliant brainstorming are the reasons that Game of Chance was finished. I couldn't have asked for a more supportive and enthusiastic beta and I'm honored to call her my friend.

To IrishJeeper, who took the time to contact me and leave her reviews in person, there's nothing quite as fun as a voicemail from a reader. She's had a lot going on this year, but she remained as upbeat and kind as ever, even going so far as to check on me when I missed my posting. You're the best sweetie, there's nobody who cares about our guys quite like you do!

Next, to Aranatta, ever the brainstorming master, his help on the fight scenes was almost as fun to watch was it was to write. Thank you for your unflinching concrit, roleplaying madness and brainstorming sessions.

To Kizume A.W, Goddess of Rage, and Ash Corvus for just being their wonderful selves. I love you guys!

And to everyone who took the time to read and review, especially BookwormFFW and SparksDiamond who reviewed every single chapter of GoC, I'm so lucky to have readers like you!

To show my appreciation:

"Say Murph . . . " Connor burst in the patio door and froze, the smile slipping from his face.

Murphy was leaning in the doorway of Danae's living room, uncharacteristically still as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone.

"Aye," he said softly, his face unreadable, "aye, I see."

"Murph?" Connor whispered, a sinking pit forming in his stomach. Something wasn't right.

Murphy ignored him, listening intently, "and when did this happen? All right. All right, thank ye."

Ending the call, he tossed the phone onto the sofa, running a hand through his hair and bringing a thumb to his mouth.

"Sit down, Conn," he said gently.

"Murphy, what the fuck is going on?"

Still staring at the phone, Murphy was silent for an endless moment, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth, the other hand figiting absently with an unlit cigarette. "That was the hospital," he said at last, "they were callin' about Maire."

No. Oh, God, no.

The bottom plummeted out Connor's stomach and his world. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell heavily into Danae's armchair pressing a fist against his mouth. This couldn't be happening, it was too fucking soon.

He wasn't ready.

He had tried to prepare himself for the day that Maire would lose the battle she'd been fighting for so long, for the day he would lose her. But now, faced with the reality of her death, Connor realized that he was hopelessly unprepared and nothing he could have done would have prevented that.

She was gone.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, bowing his head to hide the tears welling in his eyes. How was he going to tell Sasha? How could he explain to a three year old that the mother she barely remembered was dead?

A warm hand settled on his knee and he looked up into Murphy's worried eyes.

"Conn?"

"When . . . " his voice failed him, choked off by grief and loss. He swallowed against the ache in his throat and tried again, "when did she die?"

"Die?" Murphy shook his head, frowning, "Christ, Connor, did ye not hear a single word that I've said to ye?"

Mind numb, heart raw and bleeding, Connor shook his head. Murphy's expression softened. "She didn't die, Conn, she started breathin' on her own this morning."

Moving to kneel before him, Murphy offered Connor a hint of a smile and a steadying hand on his forearm, "they took her off the ventilator about an hour ago. Nothing's certain, but the doctors think that she might be tryin' ta wake up."

Much Love,

GoddessLaughs